A O Hell
by Darko28
Summary: Intializing scanner…Press F5 to enter set up…John Constantine, you will burn in hell…No viruses found…Starting Explorer…Wait. Hold up. Rewind. Only Chas could possibly buy John a possessed computer. Oh, the hijinks!


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Constantine. Or Keanu Reeves, sadly.

**Title: **AO-Hell

**Author: **Darko28

**Rating: **PG-13 for extreme cursing.

**Author's Note...er Explanation and Apologies:** You know what, I don't know where the hell this came from. But I got the idea in my head about Chas buying John a t-shirt and I couldn't get it out. It seems like something that could honestly happen to them. Anyway, sorry, I hope you enjoy. And if you don't, gosh, I just love flames!

**Note:** I got the idea for the Grateful Dead t-shirt from **John Constantine: Demon Hunter, Badass, Idiot **by _SilverKitsune1._ It's from the part whenfor a moment Chas mistakes the druggie wearing the Grateful Dead t-shirt for John, then realizes how ironic that would be. I just wanted to give credit where credit is do, so as soon as you finish reading this story, go read that one, it'sgreat.

John always knew something bad had happened when Chas walked into the apartment carrying a bag or a box. It always meant that Chas had caused some sort of catastrophe. Like buttering him up with gifts was going to appease John? Ha!

It had started a year ago, a few months after Chas had invited himself to move in John's apartment. He had come back from a simple errand with a sick look on his face and a bag in his hand. John was some what relived to see him, though he never would have admitted it. He had sent him downstairs to see Beeman and pay him for the materials he had delivered last week over two hours ago. It was a five minute trip, ten minutes tops if he had a broken leg. Chas_ did not _have a broken leg.

"John!" Chas exclaimed as he waltzed into the apartment. John turned around and jumped back,startled as Chas hugged him tightly around the waist.

John smacked him over the back of the head.

"What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"What?" Chas questioned defensively, rubbing the back of his head. "Can't I be glad to see the merciful, not to mention _forgiving, _guy who has so graciously given me a place to live?"

"What the hell happened to you? You did give Beeman the money, right?" John narrowed his eyes. He could see a few beads of sweat rolling down Chas' neck.

"I'll tell you all about my little trip in a minute," he replied quickly, walking over to the table, averting John's suspicious eyes. "But first, I got you a gift."

"A gift?" John repeated, unbelievingly. A gift? What was wrong with this kid? Nobody had gotten him a gift since he was at least thirteen years old. He liked it that way. He didn't like to owe anyone anything.

Chas nodded and set his bag down on the table, motioning for John to come look. Looking highly suspicious of his young apprentice, he slowly made his way over and peered inside the bag, dumbstruck by what he saw.

"Do you like it?" Chas asked expectantly.

John held the Grateful Dead t-shirt up to his chest. "What the hell is this?"

Chas continued to smile. "It's a t-shirt!"

"I know it's a t-shirt, you little dumbass. I just can't possibly understand your thought process. You actually bought this thing with intention of giving it to _me_?"

"Sure. I thought maybe, just maybe, you might like to try and expand your horizons. You know, try something new? I've seen your closet, John, you're not exactly a fashion template. Besides, everyone likes the Grateful Dead."

_Maybe he got dropped on his head as a baby_, John considered. "You're an idiot, Chas, you know that?"

"No, I'm not," Chas muttered, shoving the shirt back into the back. "It's supposed be ironic. Get it? Grateful Dead? I'm pretty sure _you're_ the idiot, John."

John pulled an empty glass and a large bottle of whiskey out of the liquor cabinet and set them down on the counter. It was only five o'clock in the afternoon, but he figured it was late enough to not feel guilty. He had noticed that ever since Chas had moved in, he had been drinking more and drinking earlier.

"Did Beeman mention when he could get me some more-"

Chas coughed. John poured the glass a fourth full.

"Well, what did he say when you gave him the cash-"

Chas coughed. John poured the glass half full.

"Chas…" he said slowly. "You did give him the money, didn't you, kid?"

Chas started hacking. John's glass overflowed.

"Chas," he repeated, moving carefully and deliberately towards the kid like a predator stalking it's prey. "Where's my money?"

Chas, his eyes wide like those of a deer staring into a pair of headlights, started backing away. He tumbled over the couch and held up his hands in a futile plea for John to stop.

"Look, John, I don't have your money anymore. I had it, but now it's gone. It's recirculating! But I do have a very good explanation."

John gave no sign as to whether or not he cared about Chas' explanation. He grabbed his glass off of the counter and downed it in one, two, three, four seconds flat. Then he wiped his mouth, collapsed into the nearby dining room chair and let out a long string of obscenities.

Chas cringed. "Okay, John, this is what happened. It was just minding own business-"

John snorted.

Chas went on, ignoring the interruption, "I'm walking through the bowling alley when I'm accosted by a very large, very gruff looking man. He says he wants my money and he pulls a knife on me – this is a very dangerous neighborhood, John, we really should move- and it's not just some dinky little Boy Scout knife, this is one big fucking knife! This fucker has a knife to my throat and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, 'Rape! Rape! Fire! Fire! Someone help me!' But no one's listening because, well, this is L.A., John."

John simply gulped the rest of the bottle of whiskey in response.

"So, this guy is all, like, 'Shut up or I'll slash your throat' and I'm thinking WWJD – What would John do? Because, John, merciful and forgiving John, you're my hero – and finally, I just kick him in the balls and run like hell. I'm all the way around the corner when I realize that the bastard has my wallet where I put you money to keep it safe. So, I bought this shirt to let you know how sorry I was."

Chas took a deep breath.

John let the story digest for a moment and then spoke up. "You're a shitty liar, kid."

Chas bowed his head. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"What happened to my money, you little asshole!"

"Okay, okay," Chas agreed, sighing. "Here's what happened. I was hungry, so I decided to go get a hotdog on the corner by the bank. I get there, but the hotdog guy won't take a fifty-"

"You used my money to buy a hotdog?" John questioned.

"No, that's the point, he wouldn't take the fifty. So, I walk into the bank to get some smaller bills. But unfortunately, I walked into the middle of a robbery-"

"Try again, kid, you're oh for two."

Chas sighed again and looked thoughtful. "Aliens, John, these big green aliens-"

John jumped up from his seat and in three strides was standing before Chas and picking him up.

"Woah, John, what are you doing?"

In a matter of seconds, John had him by the ankles and he was upside down, staring at the exorcist's knees.

"Where is my money?"

"Okay! Okay!" Chas shouted. "I'll tell you the truth! But the blood is rushing to my head. Let me down! I'm going to pass out, or…or throw up on your shoes!"

"I'm willing to take that chance!"

"Alright, I ran into this guy I used to know. He told me about a big poker game going on and I figured I could maybe win you some extra money. I know it costs a lot for me to live here and I wanted to pay you back for being so gracious-"

John shook him a little.

"Okay, I was going to keep the money, but can you really blame me? I was going to pay Beeman and then give you some, really, I was, but I lost it all…all of it, John! Did you know I'm really bad at poker? Because I didn't! Then I didn't know what to do, so I thought maybe if I bought you something, you wouldn't kill me, or hurt me, and there just so happened to be a thrift shop on the corner-"

"You didn't even get me something new? You bought me used clothes?"

"I'm not made of money, John!"

John threw him onto the couch and stalked to the kitchen in search of another bottle of whiskey. It was only the beginning of what was to come.

There was the time when Chas started the grease fire in the kitchen and brought John a cake to the church where he was consulting with Gabriel. The time when he got into the liquor cabinet and spewed all over John's bed and tried to make up for it by buying him a puppy, which sadly also spewed all over John's bed (the puppy, unfortunately, did not last long). A few months ago, he accidentally put his foot threw John's t.v. (though he never did explain to John how someone could accidentally put their foot through the t.v.) and had bought him a victrola. A victrola, for Christ's sake! _It was only fifteen bucks at the thrift store_, Chas had said. _Only fifteen bucks!_

So, when he saw Chas struggling with a large white box as he stumbled into the apartment, he knew something had happened.

"Get out," John said, pulling a cigarette out of the pack sitting on the counter.

"Ha ha, John," Chas rasped. "Instead of cracking jokes, maybe you could help me out here, before I get a fucking hernia. Help, John, help. Are you familiar with that concept?"

Lighting his cigarette, he took the box out of Chas' hands and effortlessly walked it over the table.

"Yeah, well, thanks," Chas said, gasping for air as he keeled over. "You know, I was fine for the first six flights of stairs. I know I say it a lot, John, but I really think we should move man. This place is falling apart. Who wants to live above a bowl-a-rama anyway?"

John dropped the box on the floor and let out a stream of smoke.

"Hey, hey, hey," Chas exclaimed, crawling over to the box. "Be careful with that thing, it's fragile. Hey, John, where are you going?"

John stopped at the door and turned back to look at him. "I'm going to go see Hennessey. Is the car out front?"

"Wait, no, don't go! Aren't…aren't you gonna at least see what it is?"

"No," John replied simply. "I don't care. It's probably something stupid. Why don't you just tell me what you fucked up?"

"C'mon over here, oh ye of little faith." Chas opened up the box like a little kid at Christmas.

John pulled on his coat and opened the door.

"John, if you leave I swear to God I'll set the apartment on fire."

"Again?"

"Oh, that's real funny, John. It's not like I didn't suffer because of that little incident. I ruined my favorite shirt."

John pulled off his coat and let out another smoky breath. He grabbed the box with a grunt and set it on the table, opening it with considerably less enthusiasm than Chas.

"It's a computer," John stated in an even voice.

"Fuck yeah it's a computer!" Chas pulled the monitor out of the box. "I got it at a garage sale for thirty bucks. Thirty bucks, John! Can you believe that?"

"Yes. I can. What the fuck did you by a computer for?"

"Because you don't have one!"

"Maybe I didn't have one for a reason."

"Now you can do research online. You can buy stuff over the internet! Buy some exorcism materials and they'll be delivered in, like, a week! Think of the convenience."

John raised an eyebrow. "So, I should wait a week when I could could just walk down to Beeman's in five minutes?"

Chas paused. "It's just a suggestion. The internet is full of possibilities. If you can't find anything else you're interested in, just look up porn."

"Get rid of it," John ordered, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.

"No, c'mon, John. I'll set it up and we can give it a whirl. They said it was broken, but I took a few computer classes in school. I betcha I could get it up and running in a bit. Just stick around, you can try it out."

With all of the know how he had from those couple of computer classes, it only took him four and a half hours of labor to get it to make a noise that he recognized as good.

"John!" he shouted frantically. "John, John, John! Come in here!"

John ran out of his bedroom look groggy, the Holy Shotgun in his hands. "What?" he questioned "What's going on?"

"It's making a whirring sound!" Chas exclaimed happily.

Mumbling under his breath, John flipped him off and walked heavily back towards his room.

"No, wait, John, come turn it on! See if it works."

It was almost one in the morning and John had just fallen asleep when he heard the kid shouting. He didn't want to try out the stupid little gift, he didn't want to worry about what Chas had done that prompted him to buy a computer in the first place. All he wanted to do was fall back asleep with dreams of demons and angels and sugarplums dancing in his head.

"If it blows up," he warned Chas, sitting down in the chair. "I will fucking kill you."

"Well, if it blows up, wouldn't we both die anyway?" Chas rationalized.

John paused before scooting backwards. "On second thought, maybe _you_ should turn it on."

"Hey, if you get blown up, no one will miss _you_!"

As per usual, John smacked Chas over the back of the head.

Chas took a deep breath and pressed the button. With a few beeps, the modem roared to life and the start up screen appeared.

"Aha!" Chas screamed, clapping his hands together.

"Wonderful," John replied without enthusiasm. "Can I go back to bed?"

"No," Chas commanded. "Sit, stay there. Let me grab some software that I might still have…"

Chas scrambled off towards the cabinet under the t.v. where he kept his things. John yawned and stared at the computer screen as it booted up, words scrolling up and down the screen.

_Intializing scanner… _

_Loading…_

_Press F5 to enter set up…_

_John Constantine, you will burn in hell…_

_No viruses found…_

_Starting Explorer…_

Wait. Hold up. Rewind.

_John Constantine, you will burn in hell._

Yep, that's what he thought it said.

"Chas," he called.

"What?"

"Get the fuck over here."

"I'm trying to find this virus scanner that I know I had…"

"There's something wrong with the computer."

Chas sighed. "There's nothing wrong with the computer, John. I fixed it. It's fine."

"Oh, yeah?" John challenged. "It just said I'm gong to burn in hell."

"You're just imagining things."

"I'm not imagining it, it's right-"

The screen went black and the white words disappeared. Chas stared at him expectantly. John sighed, rubbed his eyes and stood up. "I'm going back to my bed. I'm not getting up unless we are being attacked, or I have to take a piss. Clear?"

"Oh, c'mon," Chas whined. "Just wait a minute."

"No-" John started.

"John Constantine, the fires of hell will engulf your soul," the computer interrupted in a flat voice.

"Hold on a minute," John told the computer. "Chas, listen-…"

John spun around to face the innocent looking computer. "What the fuck? Chas, the computer just spoke!"

Chas sauntered over with the software in hand, looking smug. "Did it say that you have mail? Because that's perfectly normal, John."

"It told me the fires of hell will engulf my soul."

"Huh." Chas mumbled, unsure of what else to say. "I guess it knows you pretty well."

Knowingly, Chas stepped out of the way as John attempted to hit him over the back of the head.

Chas bent over and stared into the screen of the computer, waiting for something to happen, and man alive, did something happen. The disk drive opened slowly and a steady stream of steaming blood spurted onto an unsuspecting John.

"Only you, Chas," he muttered, trying to wipe the blood off of his white undershirt. "Only you could possibly buy a fucking possessed computer!"

His eyes wide and unbelieving, Chas shook his head. "I didn't…I didn't know it was possessed, John!"

"That's why it was only thirty bucks, you idiot!"

"They said it was broken. I fixed it!"

"It was never broken! Do you really think that you could fix a computer, Chas?"

Chas frowned and folded his arms over his chest as steam began to rise through the top of the screen. "Yes…well, alright, I guess it's slightly…_mostly_ improbable."

A cord slithered out from underneath the table like a silent snake, making it's way towards Chas' right foot.

"I'm sorry, John, I really didn't – Umph!" The cord had wrapped itself around Chas' leg and pulled the ground out from under him. He landed on the floor with a clatter and his shrieks resonated through the apartment as he was pulled underneath the table.

"Oh, fuck," John mumbled, stalking towards the kitchen.

"Wait, no, John, don't leave!" Chas shrieked, struggling against the cords that bound his legs as another one began to wrap itself around his arms and a third around his neck. "Constantine, get your ass back over here, you little shit! You cock-sucking, mother-fucking asshole! You're a waste of semen, JohnConstantine! I hope you rot!You can't just leave me to die!"

Mumbling to himself and ignoring the racket Chas was making in the dining room, John took a quick swig from his already out bottle of gin and then grabbed a very long, very sharp knife.

_My funeral is going to be mortifying,_Chas realized as he struggled to breathe. _How did he die? His family would ask,'How did he die? He was so young.' And then…then John would have to tell them 'He was strangled by a computer'. _

And then John was next to him, sawing at the cords with one hell of a butcher's knife. He suddenly felt a wave of admiration and love for his mentor wash over him. He also felt slightly guilty about the terrible things he had called him a few minutes earlier.

John cut the cord around Chas' neck and the kid gasped for air for a moment before lunging at John. He knocked him over backwards straight into the back of the couch.

"Thank God, John, thank God! You are a good, good man, John! I love you, man, you saved my life…again!"

John considered smacking Chas over the back of the head, but decided not to. He did wiggle away from the squirming teenager, though. Unfortunately, the computer hadn't given up yet. It snapped at Chas' leg, trying to pull him underneath again. Sighing, John kicked it away from the screaming Chas who was trying to crawl up the back of the couch.

"Exorcise it, John, get it the fuck away from here! Exorcise, John! Exorcise!"

"Just a minute," John mumbled, stumbling towards his the kitchen. Another shot of scotch, and then he picked up the Holy Shotgun and moved swiftly towards the computer.

"Wait, no, what are you doing with that? Don't shoot it, John, it cost thirty bucks!"

Standing in front of the computer, John pulled the trigger and the blood red screen shattered into pieces.

Chas groaned, but then regained his composure. "It's okay, it's just slightly shotgunned. I didn't waste my money, no need to worry. John, where are you going with that? No, John, seriously, man, don't do what I think you're going to do!"

John dropped the screen of the computer out of window. It hit the fire escape and then dropped the forty feet to the ground, with a sickening thud.

"Alright," Chas muttered. "Okay. I understand why you had to do that, John. Now…now that we're safe, I think we should talk."

"Talk to yourself, kid," John told him, walking towards his bedroom. "I'm going back to bed."

"Alright, alright, but, John, just one thing. Remember your car?"

"Of course I…wait, what do you mean _remember?_"


End file.
